X.x.X
.
The answer didn't come to Watson right away.
He stilled at the sudden crush into his space, his blue eyes wide with shock.
His hands were held up awkwardly.
Watson didn't know whether to grab Holmes by his shirt, braces...by everything and just pull him in until no space separated them. Or whether to say dreams-come-true-be-damned, and shove his flatmate away to ask him just what the hell he thought he was doing.
Because with Holmes one could never know.
Watson hesitantly brought his hands towards his friend, holding a fistful of Holmes's trousers on each thigh.
Then Holmes pulled away from the chaste kiss to look down at his flatmate. Watson's blue eyes still remained wide, confused and thoroughly searching. He wanted to know the motive behind this but he'll be damned if he dared to speak first and break this.
Whatever this was.
Holmes had a heavy look about him; his face mirroring a very diluted form of his usual calculating demeanour, his gray eyes half lidded, slightly dilated and darker than Watson had ever experienced them being.
Dilated pupils and...Holmes. Oh god, oh-
-He could not fathom what he was seeing. It just did not seem to fit with anything in regards to the buildup of the man called Sherlock Holmes. Something that was meant to be right in front of him was painfully amiss.
The doctor swallowed, easing away the breath he had been holding.
"...Watson," the detective murmured hoarsely above him, his breath hot against his partner's face as he stood, bent towards him. That voice, saying his name in that tone was all it took for Watson to successfully delude himself into the answer he needed for the moment.
Then Holmes's eyes lowered by a splinter, and his lips were on his again; soft, pressing and gentle.
Watson took the detective's advice this time, and he turned it over in his thoughts.
Don't think...just feel, John Watson.
He felt Holmes hands tentatively reaching and cradling the back of his head, his fingers relaxing as nestled webs into his hair. Watson moved forward to take a desperate possession to the kiss, but his friend calmly pushed him back into the sofa, as though saying 'just allow me', and edged closer towards Watson until he was atop the sofa, straddling him.
The doctor resigned himself completely to Holmes, and moved a hand to rest on the back of his friend's waist-they settled there with such eerie perfection. He buried the other into the detective's loose curls, pulling him in and attempting to close every space between them.
He eased against the couch as Holmes tongue persuaded his mouth open in the slowest -and to Watson, most alarming pace.
In all of his unending thoughts of such a scenario between the both of them occurring, this was one he had never imagined.
Holmes kissing him.
Holmes kissing him with such gentleness.
It stole his breath away with every second his lips were pressed against the detective's.
Watson broke the contact with a gasp, and they both took in each other's air, before their lips met again, gently kneading.
This was good, Watson thought, realizing he was in fact, thinking. It was just too good...having his arms so full of Holmes, acquiring an overloading sample of his taste, his scent, his touch...everything. It was everything; everything he had not allowed himself to imagine and Watson realized in alarm that he couldn't have it. He couldn't let himself have it.
He couldn't...
Watson broke off from the contact suddenly, his crystalline eyes wild with an unbearable revelation.
"I can't..." he rasped.
Holmes stilled at his position. He slowly unlaced his fingers from the doctor's blond locks to rest loosely against Watson's shoulders. They were trembling by the slightest of measures, Watson realized and a new, strange form of guilt hit him wildly against his chest.
What am I doing?
Holmes's expression remained stoic, but his eyes had widened by the smallest fraction that could only ever be noticeable to Watson as he managed to look into the detective's eyes.
Holmes sighed, removing himself from the doctor.
He paced across the room, and Watson watched him cautiously because this was new. This was different, and he didn't know what to expect from either of them.
He raked through his head trying to make an assumption of what Holmes might say to dissolve the entire situation. Watson reasoned that it would be something along the lines of 'I was trying to gain a firsthand experience on the effects of intimacy on the human body, for an experiment. Thus, you see, I had to assert myself upon you, Watson'. And on cue, the doctor would yell, like he always did over many of the detective's odd experiments, and accept it as such.
An experiment.
One that he wouldn't dare take to heart as anything more than just that.
And then they could go back to being them. Watson would go back to being helplessly in love with his best friend, and praying in the same breath that Holmes would never know, and Holmes would never, ever reciprocate these feelings.
X.x.X
.
His flatmate stopped at the study table before turning to Watson.
"I made an airy assumption."
Watson's thoughts broke away at the sound of Holmes's voice. The words that he heard from his friend's lips were the least expected.
"Wait, what?" He faltered.
Holmes parted his lips to speak and then shut them, running his hands through his disheveled hair in apprehension. He tried speech once again.
"I assumed that the root of...this was mutual because you responded favorably to my actions. It was quite the irrational path, but-" Holmes paused, finding in irritation that his reasoning would not aid him further with words. He settled to plainly stare at Watson and wait patiently to allow the idea sink in.
Watson gaped at his friend because he couldn't afford not to.
"Holmes. Are you implying..."
"That the absolutely human concept generally applied to affections has befallen me? Ah, if that is in fact what you are trying to ask, Watson, then do feel free to come to the obvious conclusion." He shrugged, falling back into his armchair. He watched Watson, deconstructing every emotion as it came to the man's features; as his blue eyes widened in realization.
Watson forced himself to breathe.
Holmes.
The Sherlock Holmes, who operated solely on the singular, wanted him. Holmes was in love with him and he wanted him, he wanted Watson. His head raked as he tried to pen the information down in his memory. It struggled to accept the idea as fact.
"I find myself in the same dilemma." Watson muttered; his fingers intertwined to stop them from shaking so pathetically.
Holmes looked at him, seemingly lost. He was about to ask the doctor to restate his words when Watson cut him short.
"I find myself in love with you."
The detective looked at him in a pensive manner, before his expression stilled into its usual, stoic form.
"Oh." Holmes answered, unable to fight away the sound of relief that flowed along with that single word.
Watson gave a small smile at that, but it all soon gave way to an unbearable silence.
The detective of course, could not sit through this sort of silence once again. He stood up from his chair, pacing the room.
If Watson fancied him in the same mannerisms as he did Watson, then why was he reluctant to indulge in these affections? It puzzled him that he couldn't find the root of whatever was causing Watson to push away.
A problem it was...a fear.
He stopped his strides, facing the windows that gave no light. His shoulders mirrored his tension as he spoke.
"What is it that you are afraid of?"
"I'm not afraid. I'm just-"
"Something about the idea bothers you. And I happen to be the person on the other end of this, Watson. It would only be helpful for me to know the reasons for such a resolve."
Watson bit his lip, until he could almost taste the metallic tinges which now lay a thin layer away from surfacing. How was he supposed to explain this to Holmes without sounding like an utterly selfish, self-destructive arse-of-a-man?
"You fear that we would not last. You fear for what you will cause me- pain, anger and all other overbearing emotions affiliated with a relationship. You greatly underestimate me, Watson."
"No, Holmes. I'm afraid of what we would do to us."
"That on one such bright morning, you will wake up from beside me, and you won't be able to look into my face because whatever it is that burns so bright in this room at this moment would be faded into a spectacularly blank canvas. Into nothing. And I won't be able to be there as a friend, a lover...as anything. I can't- I can't let that become of us." Watson shook as he rambled, his hands clenching hard against his trousers.
This was so painful.
It was so bloody painful.
Holmes was watching Watson, an unreadable expression glazing around his face until it morphed into a burning anger, sweeping his features with every other emotion he couldn't bring himself to justify.
"Watson, you can't control this! It is impossible. It is the one thing I have come to accept grudgingly. Would you leave this behind you over such a probability?" His voice rose considerably.
Everything was slipping out of his hands and he couldn't gain a firm grasp to pull it back towards him.
It was maddening, it was terrifying.
There was absolutely nothing thrilling about this feeling.
"What would you have me do?" Watson yelled back, panting.
Holmes was taken aback by his friend's uproar, and he forced himself to relax considerably. He shut his dark eyes for a short time, before taking slow strides towards his friend.
"'What would I have you do', you say. Walk right up here, kiss me, drag me up those stairs and have your way with me until I cannot come to any other deduction but you, you. You, Watson."
Watson trembled at the words. "Oh God, Holmes. I- I can't..."
"That is what you want. It is what I want. And what you should do..." He said lowly as he stopped before Watson. He took in a long, calming breath before stooping in front of his friend to catch a glimpse of Watson as he buried his head downwards in apprehension.
"...but you won't. And you don't have to, Watson." He whispered under him, and Watson looked down with wild eyes to engage his. Holmes bit his bottom lip as he watched his friend.
They both were so miserable and he couldn't help but frown bitterly at the thought. The one idea that was meant to ensure happiness, however momentarily, was like a plague to the both of them. Tearing at them, causing a thrashing pain even before the feeling became acknowledged.
It went without the need for punctuation now that they were in fact, not normal.
No, not normal at all.
But it just might be alright that way.
"I cannot not have you in my life in any form whatsoever...it's the thing I fear." Watson managed an explanation. He seemed to be striving for anything to make his friend understand.
Holmes understood, so he nodded. "I know, Watson."
Watson raised his hands tentatively to hold both sides of Holmes's face. The detective did not stop him. He edged closer into the touch instead, and it broke Watson.
It broke him to know that he was breaking his friend.
Holmes brought a hand to clasp against one of Watson's, his dark eyes boring into him.
"The only means of ensuring stability is where we are. I understand that. Don't think for a second that you are forcing me to abide by this resolve you have taken upon yourself. You know me better than that, Watson." His fingers clenched tighter against his friend's at that, taking the doctor by surprise.
It was no surprise that Holmes could see the guilt on his face. The man was trying in his own way to reassure him that he was alright with this; that they could do without indulging in these feelings. Watson truly did not know if he could.
But he nodded.
Holmes sighed, and they lingered for a long moment in silence; their hands still intact in their positions. Watson visibly relaxed with the silence, his breaths thinning into its even pace.
"If we cannot fall into these affections, then we have no other choice but to conquer it."
Watson's hand fell from his friend's face and Holmes's left his. He watched as the detective sprung from the floor. Of course it was true but it definitely stung to hear it.
His lips twisted wryly.
"How...just how are we supposed to do that Holmes?"
The detective shrugged. "I don't know. But there must be a way out which I'm currently unaware of."
He disappeared with that, heading into the kitchen.
Holmes returned quickly with two glasses in hand, and a whiskey bottle. He set it on the table, blatantly ignoring the obviously confused stare coming from Watson.
Watson watched as his friend pushed a glass towards him, leaving his own in the same position and serving himself first. Then Holmes walked all the way towards the other side of the table to pour in the drink for the doctor.
He knew it was on purpose; Holmes's way of trying to alleviate the tension if only for a moment. Watson fought a small smile tugging at his lips despite their condensing situation.
"Holmes,"
"Yes?" He cocked his head to the side, sparing his friend a quick glance as he stood beside him.
Watson sat upright on the sofa. "What exactly are you doing?"
The doctor took the glass of whiskey served to him anyway.
Holmes screwed the bottle shut, placing it on the table beside Watson knowingly, before settling calmly into his armchair.
"Ah, this." He picked his own glass from the table, staring into it with calculation. Then he turned his focus to Watson.
"A small token for a prayer..."
The detective smiled when Watson looked at him as if he had gone truly mad.
"I'm not even going to ask." The doctor murmured into his glass, looking away from the said mad-man. The mad-man he absolutely, hopelessly loved.
Holmes was still staring at him, almost childishly, waiting for him to ask.
"What for, Holmes?" He bit out, looking at his friend.
The detective finally reclined into the comfort of his chair, his gray eyes never losing hold of Watson's.
"A small, rare prayer. That this unforgiving madness planted before us does not consume us before we have a chance to conquer it." Holmes stated, his eyes lingering on Watson for but a second, before he retreated his gaze to the glass in his hand. He drained the contents at once.
Watson appeared taken aback, but quickly followed, draining his glass and reaching for the bottle. As he poured the whiskey into his glass and lifted it to his lips, he prayed desperately that Holmes's prayer...their prayer would come to pass.
It just had to.
Reviews are very much appreciated. I would love to hear what is liked/constructive critiques about it~